


it's the thought that counts

by wandasmaximoffs



Series: 12 days of exr 2017 [4]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: 12 days of exr, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Christmas Fluff, M/M, altho theres no gardening just badly wrapped gifts, day 4: wrapping gifts, gardener!grantaire, grantaires mum is a nerd, reluctant prince!enjolras, royal family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 09:59:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12956817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wandasmaximoffs/pseuds/wandasmaximoffs
Summary: “Gift-wrapping is a skill that takes a lot of practice,” He says, leaning over to press a kiss to Enjolras’ nose before rocking back into his spot on the carpet. They’re surrounded by crumpled, discarded wrapping paper, and the various gifts that they are supposed to be covering, and there are lines of pre-cut sticky tape hanging ready from the gilded bed frame they’re sitting beside.It’s shockingly domestic, Grantaire thinks, considering that he’s sat in Buckingham Palace, in the private apartments of the heir to the British throne.





	it's the thought that counts

“I don’t--” Enjolras huffs in frustration, waving his hand to try and dislodge a rogue piece of sticky tape, “I don’t understand what I’m doing  _ wrong. _ ”

He’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, clad in his sweatpants and one of Grantaire’s shirts, wrestling with a roll of wrapping paper. With that image in front of him, Grantaire can’t help the laugh that escapes him as he reaches over to catch his boyfriend’s flailing hands.

“Gift-wrapping is a skill that takes a lot of practice,” He says, leaning over to press a kiss to Enjolras’ nose before rocking back into his spot on the carpet. They’re surrounded by crumpled, discarded wrapping paper, and the various gifts that they are  _ supposed  _ to be covering, and there are lines of pre-cut sticky tape hanging ready from the gilded bed frame they’re sitting beside.

It’s shockingly domestic, Grantaire thinks, considering that he’s sat in Buckingham Palace, in the private apartments of the heir to the British throne.

“What, they don’t teach princes how to wrap presents properly in all your… prince lessons?” He teases, plucking the leather-bound  _ “Encyclopaedia Of The Moth”  _ from Enjolras’ lap and beginning to wrap it properly.

“ _ No, _ ” Says Enjolras, “I think it’s supposed to be genetic. Jehan’s awfully good at wrapping, every year they present me with some fucking masterpiece of a wrapped gift, and I end up giving them something that looks like it was wrapped and then unwrapped by a toddler.”  
  


Grantaire does  _ not  _ find this hard to believe. Jehan makes everything they touch beautiful, except maybe their wardrobe.  
  


“Well, lucky you,” He winks, “I’m here to teach you. But that leads me to my next question-- What are you doing for Christmas? I’m assuming you have… Duties to be, duty-ing, prince things to be prince-ing at.”

His tone is suddenly very cautious, and he curses himself for it; he’s well aware that Enjolras has a  _ lot  _ of things expected from him, be it from his family or the government or just the general public, and especially with his boyfriend’s thoughts of possibly renouncing the Crown entirely, Grantaire doesn’t want to be the one to add to that burden. But still--

“Well, I  _ do _ have to attend a formal brunch on Christmas eve, of which my father is planning on extending an invite to you-- don’t look so surprised, he doesn’t  _ hate  _ you-- But that’s all, really.”

Grantaire’s eyebrows almost fly off his forehead with the speed at which they raise. “The brunch thing we can touch on in a sec, ‘cause there is  _ no way _ your dad willingly invited me to  _ anything,  _ but. I was thinking, maybe, if you really are free, and don’t feel obligated to say yes or anything-- I don’t know. Maybe you want to come to ours, or something? After the, uh, the brunch?”

Enjolras tries very,  _ very  _ hard not to gape. “Come to yours? Don’t you spend Christmas with your family?”

“Yes,” Says Grantaire, patiently, not even trying to hold back his fond smile anymore, “I do. I mean it’s nothing fancy, it’ll probably just be us and mum and Clara, but-- Yeah. I mean, if you’re really not busy…”  
  


He wonders if people  _ not  _ dating royalty find it this nerve-wracking to ask their boyfriends home for the holidays. Grantaire is certain that his childhood bedroom, covered in various posters for now outdated sci-fi movies and angsty bands,  _ definitely  _ does not measure up to  _ an actual fucking palace--  _ but that’s not what he’s worried about. Enjolras isn’t the kind of person to care at all about that kind of thing, and he knows he hates the extravagance of the palace.  
  


(Maybe it’s all the Royal Family Collectible Plates his mum has on show in the china cabinet, but even  _ that’s _ nothing Enjolras hasn’t seen before. And he took it like a real champ, signed them and everything.)

Enjolras, though, doesn’t look like he’s about the reject him; he looks… Happy? A little breathless, but--

“I would love to!” He practically  _ launches  _ himself at Grantaire, knocking the now perfectly wrapped book out of his lap and taking its place, “I mean, if your mother won’t mind. I don’t want to cause stress, or anything.”

“It’s a plan, then,” Grantaire grins against Enjolras’ lips, “Shut up, you know she loves you. Which is good, because your parents definitely do  _ not  _ love me, and definitely did  _ not  _ invite me to brunch.”  
  


Enjolras at least has the decency to look a little sheepish, even though that is very quickly overtaken by the defiant expression Grantaire loves  __ so much.  
  


“Well-- Alright,” He says, kissing Grantaire’s cheek and moving back to his spot amidst the discarded wrapping paper,  _ “I’m  _ inviting you, because you are my boyfriend, and I love you, and I think maybe if you come they can all get their heads out of their asses and just-- Stop being like that.”

Grantaire scoffs, but there’s no malice in it. “Sweetheart, they probably expected you to date, like, a fucking Duke or like, a prince or something. Not myself, a trashcan and gardener. Y’know?”

"You’re not a trashcan. And just because they had snobbish expectations doesn’t make their reactions to actual functioning reality  _ right, _ ” Says Enjolras, softly, still looking defiant. “I wish they’d treat you better, is all. But,” he adds, holding his hands up to placate Grantaire, who looks like he’s about to try and argue back  _ on their behalf,  _ “We can get on with the wrapping now.”  


“Okay,” Says Grantaire, leaning over and pressing a kiss to Enjolras’ shoulder, “How about I teach you how to wrap a cylindrical gift? I think you’ve reached that level of skill.”

“God, this looks  _so far_ beyond my skill leve, but I can try,”l Enjolras smiles, “Where do we start?”  
  


(He _does_ manage to wrap a gift correctly. Eventually. A few years later. But it’s the thought that counts.)

**Author's Note:**

> woop woop day four.....im not hugely in love with this one bc its 3am and i speed-wrote this to get it out in time, but i AM hugely in love with this verse so u can maybe expect to see more from it! as always u can hit me up on tumblr @patroclols, and the credit for the prompts is the same as before! thanks for reading lovelies! <3
> 
> [Support Me on Ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/S6S5IQU1)


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